


With Cobwebs In The Corners

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Barebacking, Episode Tag, F/M, First Time, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-23
Updated: 2009-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel and Elle have sex in the Canfield House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Cobwebs In The Corners

**Author's Note:**

> References to past Mohinder/Sylar.

Gabriel doesn’t ask for what he wants. He hasn’t begged or pleaded or whined for anything, not since Chandra denied him. Taking is so much easier and so much more effective. And now, with their abilities gone and Bennet gone, alone in the Canfield house with everything they had thought they were suddenly stripped from them, Gabriel doesn’t think this is the time to start asking nicely. He frames Elle’s face in two wide palms, and pulls her up towards him as she surges into his touch to meet him. She’s kissing him as brutally as he’s kissing her and Gabriel doesn’t know if this is taking or being taken.

Elle pushes him roughly against the wall and with the impact, dust and flecks of plaster mushroom out in a cloud about them. Gabriel yelps at being so manhandled, his injured shoulder throbbing, but she merely smirks up at him and quick, deft fingers flick open the buttons of his shirt. He cups her chin in both his hands and growls, deep and low, in a way that makes Elle rock up on the tips of her toes and arch charmingly against him, pressing into him from thigh to breast. He drags her up for a kiss and nips at her lips, bruising them, payback in kind for the ache in his shoulder. She bites back, of course she does, trailing nips and licks over Gabriel’s chin and down his throat, latching her teeth to the rise of his clavicle and scraping wetly over it.

“Elle,” he warns but she only winks at him, burying her face in his chest hair, kissing the very centre of his sternum. He pets the top of her head and pulls the tie from her hair. Gabriel winds his fingers around the ends as it falls over her shoulders, glossy and bright and soft even now, when spotted with grime and sweat. Her hair nearly reaches the clothed swell of her breasts and, as Gabriel plays with it, twisting strands between his fingers, her nipple pebbles through the layers of fabric, just below his thumb.

He moulds his hand to Elle’s breast through her shirt, the softness of the cloth nothing compared to the softness of her flesh. She fits perfectly into his palm, her breasts as petite and dainty, and as exquisitely formed as the rest of her. He thinks of the Gabriel he used to be, of how he had longed to touch this “angel” there but had never had the courage to try; fearing that to give in to one hunger would only drag him down to others. Sin begets sin, his mother had said, and with blood already staining his hands, that Gabriel hadn’t dared give in to lust lest he kill again.

But he had murdered again, and again and again, and when he’d finally yielded to the want in his balls and cock, just as he had to the gnawing ache in his soul, he had been Sylar, and it had been Mohinder’s chest, hard and flat with wiry hair that matched his own that had been beneath his hands, one frigid Montana night. Where Mohinder had lain back, letting Zane, Sylar, _Gabriel_ touch him as he pleased, fingers unsteady with feigned bashfulness, Elle is more demanding. She presses into his hand, grinding herself against his palm until he can feel every dip and detail of the lace that trims her bra.

“Yes,” she moans as he squeezes softly, rocking against his leg where he has wedged it between her thighs. She’s hot, _so hot_ there, even with layers of pants and panties, denim and boxers between them. When she swivels her hips, gasping under her breath as his leg hitches up to meet her movements, her scent is so thick in the air that he curls his tongue against his palate and swears that he can taste her.

Her nails scrape over his chest, gentler than he knows her capable of. She pinches his stomach, _a threat or a promise?_, and giggles when he starts, jerking between her and the wall as much at the surprise of it as at the bite of skin trapped between sharp nails painted cotton-candy pink.

“Oops,” she teases, fluttering her lashes in reply to the arch of his eyebrow. She kisses his reddening skin sweetly as she drops lightly to her knees.

She fondles him once, confidently tracing the thick line of his erection through the crotch of his jeans, before making short work of his belt and fly. His jeans are yanked roughly to his knees and his boxer-briefs are torn down with only marginally more care. One small hand lifts his balls on a deferential palm to shield him from the twang of elastic and the burn of cotton ripped past delicate flesh.

“Mmm,” she moans as she kisses his sac, kneading his testicles between her fingers and pressing her nose to his wrinkled skin. She inhales deeply and groans again, the sound on her lips humming through him until his head smacks loudly back against the wall. The _clunk_ of skull to plaster resounds once more in the empty house as she licks a hot stripe along his cock from balls to crown. When she tongues at him, at that spot below the head where Mohinder liked to stroke so softly, so teasingly with the pad of his thumb, the dirty off-white paint of the walls crumbles beneath his nails.

She spits in her hand, twice, a coarse, unladylike sound that stokes heat in his gut and low in his balls. She wraps her small, saliva-slick palm around him, her fingers circling tightly as they stretch around his width. Her strokes are damp and firm, following a practiced rhythm that unleashes an unexpected snarl of jealously within him. It whispers up his spine and he grabs her shoulders, bunching her shirt in his fists and thrusting forward from the hips. His dick bumps against her lips, the tip sitting prettily against her mouth, still greased with kiss-smeared lip gloss.

Elle rolls her eyes with such exasperation that he starts to wonder exactly how many cocks she’s had shoved in her face before. The thought does nothing to dispel his sudden urge to take her hard and rough, possess her, and make her his and his alone. If not for the shadows that darken the room, and the impotent feeling lodged deep his chest, the world around him no longer seen with perfect clarity through eyes that simply _know_, Gabriel would think his hunger returned. But the need within him is nothing to do with powers that they no longer wield, and everything to do with the power over him that she’s always held.

Gabriel wonders how many men Bennet has whored her out to, in order to reel them in. How many got blowjobs while he got peach pie?

She ducks her head, taking the head of his cock between her lips, sucking loud and wet and _tight_ around him, her hand never ceasing its furious slide up and down, down and up, twisting around his shaft. He tries to shake away the lingering mistrust borne of past betrayals, biting his lip until the memories of who and what they were are buried once more under the sweat, salt and bitter tang of _now_.

He loses himself to the frantic pump of Elle’s hand and the elegant flick of her tongue along his slit. She curls her tongue and traces it below the ridge of the head of his cock, and he doesn’t have time to wonder where she learnt to do this, only to thank his lucky stars that she’s been taught so well.

Elle’s technique is nothing like Mohinder’s. Where he liked to pull Zane’s cock to the back of his throat and hold him there, swallowing around him until the whimpers that spilled from Zane’s lips sounded more like pleas for mercy than cries for more, she can’t fit more than the tip of his dick between her jaw. She pulls back to breathe more often, licking and spitting, sucking wet kisses along his length, relying on her hand to caress where her mouth could never reach.

But it’s still good, just as good and maybe even better because Mohinder deep-throating him is in the distant past, so faded, now, without his eidetic memory, that it may as well have been nothing but a masturbatory dream. But Elle is here, tugging at his cock with breathless enthusiasm and there’s a good chance that if he asks her to do it again later, and tomorrow and then the next day after, that she’ll say yes, with a sly smile on her face and a wicked look in her eye.

Elle sucks at his balls, rolling the flat of her tongue around the shape and size of them, lifting them on her lips to feel their weight. She giggles when his cock twitches in her hand at the feel of her lips ghosting over the skin between his testicles; soft lips pressed to tender skin, tongue trailing over the sparse hairs there. All he can do is grunt in reply, closing his eyes to the almost too-erotic sight of her on her knees before him, hands and mouth working in unison to bring him off.

Gabriel can feel his pre-come beading, he watches as it pearls and dribbles down his flushed skin, only to be swept away by the curving arc of Elle’s small thumb over the head of his cock.

“Oh,” she sighs at the sudden new wetness, hot and sticky, and of his making, not hers, under the pads of her fingers. She trails her fingers through it, watching fascinated as it hangs in a string between her hand and his dick, the two of them joined by his arousal. And when more leaks from him, Elle laughs happily and sucks the pre-come from her fingers.

“Mmm,” she moans. “Gabriel,” she whispers and then her lips are _there_ and she’s tasting him directly, pointed tongue sliding along his slit to collect as much as she can and spread it on her lips. Elle pulls back, her eyes never leaving his as he watches her drag her bottom lip between her teeth and scrape every smudge of pre-come from her skin.

“Yum, yum!” she quips, moaning, “_Delicious_,” as a husky afterthought. Gabriel chokes on his laughter because suddenly, Elle’s rocking forward and his cock is in her mouth again.

He thinks that maybe Elle wasn’t joking after all, because she bobs her head with more enthusiasm than he could ever muster when sucking Mohinder off, cock heavy on his tongue, release bitter in his throat, all the while fighting the urge to gag as his breath was stifled by warm, firm flesh. He remembers Mohinder’s soothing words, as he held a wad of tissue to Zane’s lips and encouraged him to spit away the come in his mouth, _it gets easier with practice_. Then, the jealousy is back, dark and dangerous, not quite concealed anymore beneath the rippling waves of pleasure cresting in his groin. How many Company men fell prey to Daddy’s pretty little girl?

Fingers damp with spit and pre-come slide behind his balls, pressing gently up and stroking, rubbing, _teasing_ his perineum. The heel of her hand grinds lightly up against his sac and her other hand still fondles his cock in time to the beat of her meandering fingers. She reaches back further and Gabriel shuffles his feet, sliding his jeans down lower as best he can, awkwardly trying to spread his legs to her touch, and not caring how ridiculous he might look: bow-legged and pinned against the wall.

She shoves two slick fingers into his asshole, fast and hard, with little warning. Gabriel cries out because it’s been too long, far too long since he’s been touched like this. His own hand around his dick has filled the days and months between Mohinder and now, but Gabriel has never fingered his own ass and he’s forgotten how _good_ it feels to be stretched there. When Elle separates her fingers inside him, he groans her name, wailing as much for the ache of what he’s been missing as for the rush of hormones that comes with her touch. Gabriel can feel his orgasm surging at the base of his dick, barely held in check.

It takes her a moment to find his prostate. Mohinder was more agile, more precise with his touch, but Gabriel finds that he likes the way her slimmer, shorter fingers curl and search within him. He enjoys the tease as her fingers spread out, looking for what she wants. The way she grunts around his cock in mild frustration has him teetering on the brink of too-far-gone.

Her fingers finally hit home, and without thinking, Gabriel fists his hand in her hair, clinging roughly to her to keep himself from coming from this alone. When the pads of her fingers brush over that spot, stroke him deep inside with a maddening, feather-light pressure, he yanks, without thinking, at the hair he holds, and she scrapes her teeth warningly against his cock.

Elle pulls off his dick with a wet _pop_, seemingly oblivious to the line of spit that still connects her plump, flushed lips with his erection and she flicks her wrist, holding her palm to his balls in a gesture that he’s seen so many times before. Nothing happens. No cry of pain. No sudden crackle in the air or blue sparks against his skin and he watches her frown forlornly as the reality of life with no abilities sets in.

“Come here,” he says, surprised at how hoarse and gruff his own voice sounds in his ears. Gabriel crouches, still hampered by his jeans, and drags her up by her shoulders. And then, he’s kissing her as desperately as he had when all this began, his cock still hard and heavy, pressed flat between their stomachs when Elle throws herself against him to push aside what has just happened.

Gabriel kicks off his shoes as they kiss, keeping one palm hooked around her chin to hold their mouths together. Her tongue is quick as it slips between his lips, chasing his, teasing it to follow hers back behind her own teeth. He shrugs off the shirt that still hangs from his shoulders, damp with sweat and dusty now. And when Elle pulls back to shed her own shirt, curling one arm behind her back to unclip her bra without ceremony, the sight alone is enough to distract Gabriel from the residual ache in his shoulder.

Her stomach is flat and toned, all firm, hard-earned muscle beneath the softness of her curves. Gabriel glides his hands up Elle’s sides, capturing with his lips the sighs that fall from her mouth as he caresses her from hip to chest. He brushes her hair behind her ear and pulls back to watch her face as he holds one breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between a thumb and forefinger. He lets her other breast bounce freely between them, watching it move with her every gasp and moan. He ducks his head to tease a nipple with his lips and Elle’s fingers lace in his hair.

“Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel,” she moans, holding him to her chest, and somehow, hearing his name, his _real_ name on the lips of a lover is more arousing than blowjobs or handjobs or getting fucked in the ass has ever been. And now, Gabriel wants to make her feel that way too. Maybe it doesn’t matter who the other men were or how many she’s had before him, because Gabriel is determined that he shall be the best, the last, the only man that she will ever want again.

He thumbs open Elle’s fly, plunging his hand beneath the tight fabric. He pushes aside the scrap of sodden cloth between her thighs and slides a finger along her cunt. She’s wet, _so wet_ for _him_ and even without his intuitive ability, Gabriel can read what she wants in the twitch of her hips against his touch.

One finger sinks easily within her and then a second beside it. The lips of her cunt are warm, swollen with arousal against his hand. From his wrist to the fingertips curling inside, he’s slick with the juices slipping from her. Elle is panting heavily, moaning as she leans against him, both of her hands clamped to his hips to stop herself from buckling at the knees. He thumbs her clit, teasing over it as he nips at her breasts. She cries out, “Gabriel!”, thighs trembling as the mix of pleasure and pain rolls over her.

Elle grinds against his thumb, circling her hips quicker and quicker into his hand. He takes the hint and rubs in spirals _there_, varying the pressure and pace, redoubling his efforts whenever she sighs his name. He thrusts with his fingers inside her body, inner walls so tight and slick around him. He’s trying to find a rhythm that works in the close confines of her pants; a pace that lets him manoeuvre fingers and thumb in concert to tease an orgasm from her. But, Elle keeps arching forward, into the press of his thumb and away from the stroke of his fingers. So, Gabriel pulls his hand away. His fingers slip easily from her, and more wetness slides out, trickling over his already sopping skin.

He slams his mouth to hers in a sudden, violent kiss. The tips of two wet fingers, wide but nimble, used to dealing with delicate things, flutter over her clit. Gabriel rubs her there, faster, faster, harder, harder, never letting her lips escape from his, even as her breath grows short and her eyes squeeze closed. Elle’s thighs snap shut around his wrist and her hand slaps down covering his, holding him still and near as she rocks her hips and grinds against him through her orgasm.

When Elle’s muscles finally relax, Gabriel lowers her tenderly to the floor, brushing her sweat-damp hair away for her eyes. She wriggles her hips and Gabriel tugs at her clothes, pulling off each of her shoes before he yanks her pants away. He balls her panties in his hand, the soft lace soaked through with her sweat and arousal and brings it to his face. Elle rakes her fingers through his hair as Gabriel inhales her rich and heady scent.

“Gabriel! Gabriel, _please_,” she begs. Who is Gabriel to deny her when she has one little hand wrapped around his cock again and with the other she’s palming her breasts? Elle pinches her rosy nipples until they’re hard and aching and begging for Gabriel to clamp his lips around them.

Gabriel stretches out over her, his hips settling in the niche between her spread thighs. She squeezes his dick in her hand one final time and then guides him inside her, curling her legs around him. He sinks into her in one long stroke, his cock stuttering against her walls, slick as they are, as she stretches around him. She gasps in surprise but urges him on with a hand on his ass, her nails five distinct points of pressure clawing at his flesh.

When he’s balls-deep inside her, Gabriel pauses. He rests his forehead against hers, his dishevelled hair falling in both their eyes. The sweat from his brow streaks down and mixes with the sheen already on her skin. But it’s no use. The stillness does nothing to combat the overwhelming feel of Elle's shifting muscles around him. It can’t override the heat of her, the taste of her, the softness of her skin or the sound of her moans, so small and _wanting_. Gabriel knows that he can’t possibly last.

He fucks her hard and fast, and if it's selfish of him, taking and taking and taking what he needs to come, she doesn’t seem to mind. She lifts her hips from the wooden, splintered floor beneath them and meets his thrusts. Their skin claps together loudly, wetly, echoing in the abandoned house. It’s a noise that Gabriel has only ever heard once before, in that ratty, rundown motel room. It’s jarring and arrhythmic, punctuated by gasps and sighs and grunts, but still, now, like then, Gabriel thinks it’s the only sound more perfect than that ticking of a watch.

Gabriel comes hard, his hips jerking rapidly as his semen pulses out in spurts within her, pooling around his dick. His orgasm washes over him, tensing his muscles from his calves to his shoulders. When he comes down, cock softening slowly, his whole chest aches where he has been holding his weight aloft on his bruised side. Through the hazy mix of weariness and release, throbbing pain and pleasure, and a heart rate only now settling down, it takes Gabriel a while to notice that Elle’s hand has wormed its way between their bodies. She’s touching herself. Ankles still crossed at the small of his back, she holds his cock within her and rubs her clit, hips straining off the floor in time to the swivel of her wrist.

“Let me,” he starts, but she brushes his hand aside.

“It’s ok,” she pants. “I got it.”

He can tell by the frown that’s growing on her face and the way she’s worrying her lip that she’s close.

“Kiss me,” Elle begs and he does, muffling her screams with his mouth as a second orgasm rips through her.

She collapses back against the floor, laughing and breathless. Her legs fall open and his dick slides wetly from her. Gabriel lies with his head on her shoulder, one hand curving to cup her breast but she slaps his arm. “Move it. You’re crushing me.”

Gabriel knows she’s only barely bitten back trying to zap him. So, he rolls onto his back and pulls her with him, settling her against his chest. He hooks a finger in his shirt and drags it towards them, draping it with the cleaner of the two sides to her skin, to ward off any post-coital chills and kisses her with a greater confidence than he feels. The room is still dark from the eclipse, and Claire Bennet’s blood is still splattered on the floor. And he wonders if he just keeps kissing Elle if he won’t have to think about what comes next.


End file.
